


Show me the words of my house

by myrish_lace



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 04:22:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7998430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrish_lace/pseuds/myrish_lace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon Snow, King in the North, comes to treat with the Mother of Dragons, and Missandei helps him get ready for the audience. He and Missandei get to know each other during his visit, and Jon is glad to see her when she comes to Winterfell. Angst and mutual pining follows. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I low-key ship these two. This is a riff on how Jon's not so great with that whole talking thing, Missandei is awesome at it, how they are both kind and shy around each other, and how they come to care for each other. 
> 
> Note: Jon and Sansa are platonic cousins here, no romance.
> 
> High Valyrian words taken from https://wiki.dothraki.org/High_Valyrian_Vocabulary.
> 
> As always I do my very best to check for typos, but if you find one please let me know in the comments and I will fix it!

**Missandei**

 

"That's...better, your grace." He'd mangled the Valyrian word for "beautiful" for the fifth time this evening. 

"Could you call me Jon, when it's just us?" He winced as he rubbed his shoulder, it had been a very long journey. "You'd be doing me a kindness."

"Jon. It's a Northern name, isn't it?" Missandei arranged her white skirts and crossed her hands in her lap. She'd need to put him more at ease if he was to learn anything. 

"It is. Thank you for taking the time to do this." Daenerys spoke the Common Tongue, of course, but she'd wanted her nephew to show some mastery of High Valyrian, to help establish him as a real Targaryen.

Tyrion, Daenerys, everyone in Meereen knew her as a freed slave. but Jon saw her only as the queen's adviser. He did well, in the shimmering heat of the day. Daenerys had expected him to sweat, to complain, but he flourished in the warmth, for a man who'd spent his life in the cold. He was handsome, she thought, in the firelight, here in his guest rooms.

"Are you nervous about meeting her?" She sipped water.

"I am. It's a lot to take in. They tell me I'm a Targaryen. A dragon. It's odd. I grew up wanting to be a wolf, like the rest of my family, it's the symbol of my house. Or it was."

She took in the the wolf's head on the pommel of his sword and the great beast that sat between them. Ghost had frightened her at first, but she'd stood firm, just as she always did, no matter who her opponent was, and now he was curled up by her feet. 

"I think you still are a wolf, your gr- Jon." He smiled at her, exhausted. "No one can take that away from you. What happens to you now doesn't replace what happened before."

"Did houses have symbols, where you came from?"

She remembered watching the shore of her home receding, as the boat swayed on the Summer Sea. "I was taken from my family when I was five, so I don't know. Slaves have no words."

"You're not a slave anymore."

"No."

"What would you want your symbol to be, or your words, if you could choose them?"

She sat back. "Words?"

"Winter is Coming, those are House Stark's words. They're supposed to be words that...say something about who you are." He wasn't gifted at speeches, she could see that much.

She tried for him. "About what your house stands for, what your legacy will be, what you want your children to remember?"

He gestured towards her. "I would never have put it that well, but yes." His eyes were warm, he was curious. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"No, it's all right, I've just never...thought about choosing that kind of language for myself." She paused and watched the flames as they flickered. Ghost and Jon both looked at her now. What would she want her children, free-born, never to forget?

"...We risk, bravely, for that which matters."

" _Gevie_." It was his best pronunciation of "beautiful" yet. 

***

Daenerys was striking, his aunt, it was said she was the most beautiful woman in the world, with ice blond hair and violet eyes and a voice that cracked like a whip.

It was Missandei's face that stayed with him.

He'd watched her as she she stood to the queen's left, translating hour after hour, preserving the peace, keeping up the flow of conversation between queen and petitioner. For Jon, who struggled to get a sentence out, it seemed like magic.

She had soft dark curls and a voice like summer, dancing eyes and a quiet command of every room she walked into. She wielded words wisely and carefully, she'd been more patient with him than he deserved, and he thought about her more than he should.  

He wished he could be a faster learner, to keep up with her, but when it gave him the chance to be near her, almost every night, he found he couldn't wish for it very hard. His pulse quickened and his spirits rose every time she knocked softly on his door, as Ghost padded over to greet her.

And when she smiled, when he could make her laugh...he knew, then, who the most beautiful woman in the world was.

***

"Very good, Jon." She surprised herself by shivering. The nights were chilly in Meereen once the sun left the desert sky. She prided herself on not letting physical discomfort show.

Jon brought her a blanket next time they met. "It's not a shawl, I wish I had something nicer."

It was stiff, rough wool, she thought it might be a saddle blanket, but she was grateful for it, and touched, rather than worried, that he'd noticed. She wrapped it around her shoulders. She must be an odd sight, dressed in white silk with a gray wool cloak. What could she say about it that was polite? "This is... _bāne_ , warm, thank you."

"What do you think about coming to Westeros?"

"It's cold there, isn't it?" His eyes crinkled. "It is."

***

After his second audience, she brought him some of Tyrion's Arbor gold, he'd need it. She put the glass in front of him and pushed the carafe over for good measure. They sat in silence across the table from each other in the afternoon sun.

"Well that..."

"Was a disaster," he finished. She tried to contradict him but she couldn't, he was right, he starting laughing and she followed.  

"Yes, it was." She hiccuped and put a hand over her mouth.

"Did I really call the dragons - cats?"

"Kittens, actually."

"Well, at least I'm still alive. She'll need you with her, when she comes north. We'll treat with her, I'm sure. I'll...be glad to see you again, when you arrive."

He shouldn't have said it, that last part, but her heart swelled to hear it all the same.  

***

Daenerys had already taken her leave and swept out of the throne room.

"Thank you again for your help." He bowed to her. A king.

("He has no idea how this works, how to wield the power that's been bestowed upon him," Daenerys had said to her, the night before, tossing her hands in the air before unstrapping her sandals. "What am I supposed to do with him?")

 _Love him for it_. "I still have your blanket." She was fluttering on the stairs. What nonsense, the blanket was nowhere near here, did she plan to walk halfway across the pyramid to get it and bring it to him? He looked more like a king, now, in his cloak, but he still gave her a small boyish smile from the step beneath her.

"Keep it, it'll keep you warm on the journey, I'll have something better made for you by the time you come to Winterfell."

She knew she needed to practice shaking hands. "Good bye, your grace." She'd done it wrong, though, she'd led with her palm down. Jon took her hand and kissed the back of it, easily, in one fluid motion. It was the most graceful thing she'd seen him do, and she couldn't dwell on why she had to fight not to blush.

"Oh."

"Was that wrong?" He looked up at her.

"No, no. I'd just meant to practice shaking hands but that was  _dōna. S_ weet." His mouth turned up at the corner. "Well good then."

They were alone in the large room, no one was watching, and she wanted to try out her words, to risk for something that mattered. She leaned down and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Good bye, Jon." He swallowed and nodded and for another sweet moment, before he left, she thought he might have wanted to kiss her back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Jon**

 

_Good bye, Jon_.

Her kiss had been a brush of her lips, as light as a summer breeze, and it was the first thing he thought about every morning when he woke. He only wished he'd had the courage to kiss her back.

***

When he delivered the news that the queen would be coming to visit, the castle buzzed. Sansa took charge of it all. They were sitting in her solar as she laid out the different threads and fabrics. She held a pin between her teeth.

"What's the queen like?" Jon was looking out the window. Would it be dangerous to travel on dragon-back in this weather? _Please, let her make it here safely_. "Jon?"

How long had he been daydreaming? "What now, Sansa? I didn't catch it." Sansa closed her eyes and he swore he could hear her mentally counting to ten. He didn't mean to vex his sis- his cousin, they were cousins now, but he did have a knack for it.

"What is the queen like? You know, the one who's arriving in a week? It will help me sew these gifts if I can get a sense of her."

"She's beautiful, like everyone says. She has blond hair and violet eyes."

She sighed. "Anything else you can tell me there, Jon, about the Mother of Dragons? Breaker of Chains? Doesn't she have a thousand names to describe her?"

Jon shrugged. "She...wears sandals?"

Sansa rolled her eyes. "You're lucky to have me. I know what to do for Lord Tyrion. Will there be anyone else with her?" She picked up fine black thread.

"There will be. She has an adviser, Missandei. She's got dark hair, it's curly, it comes to her shoulders. Soft curls, but springy. He eyes are brown and she usually wears tops that are crossed in front. She seems to like pants, though I expect she'd appreciate a dress for an audience like this. She's an interpreter, you should hear her, Sansa, she can make the queen's sharpest words sound like music, she'll need something that lets her move her arms freely. She wears white a lot, but I think she'd look beautiful in yellow, soft yellow. She gets cold easily, too, she'll need a cloak, a warm one, I bet we could find some fur for it, to line it, maybe in silver."

Sansa closed her mouth after a minute. "I don't think I've ever heard you string that may words together, Jon. You do know it's the queen you need to pay the most attention to, right?"

"Yes, I know. it's just...she was kind to me."

"So is Gilly, but you've never given me her color palette. Stop blushing, Jon, it's fine, just - remember what your priorities are, all right?" Sansa sounded like her mother at times like these. He knew she only wanted what was best for him.

"I will, Sansa."

***

The dragons landed in the fields outside Winterfell and took off, circling, to hunt.

He remembered not to crane his neck to look for her. If he did, his guard would likely think he was searching for the queen. Missandei's brown hair was much easier to spot against the white background of snow.

They rode out to meet the Mother of Dragons, banners snapping in the wind. The queen's dress looked like red and black armor, with a dragon curling down the back of her cape. She seemed smaller than she had in Meereen, bundled in dark furs.

"Well, you were telling the truth about the cold, your grace." Daenerys's horse stamped in the snow. She'd wanted to greet him as a Targaryen, to bind him more closely to her, but he'd turned her down as politely as he knew how. He didn't want his men hearing "Jon Targaryen" as the dragons flew above them.

Jon had the yellow dress laid out for Missandei. They didn't have any silk in the North, but Sansa had found wool that was almost as soft. She had agreed to spare silver fox fur, as long as he put as much thought into another gift for the queen.

***

When they dined that night he was seated to the queen's right, and Missadei was to her left. It was difficult for him to make conversation with Daenerys, and he was grateful Lord Tyrion was next to him. Tyrion and Sansa had greeted each other fondly.

"How is Lady Sansa?"

"She's good, she's been looking forward to seeing you, Lord Tyrion."

"Tyrion, please, Jon. We've been to the top of the Wall together, I think we can drop the 'lord' for each other, yes?" He wiped his mouth with his napkin. "This is excellent venison. Pity Missandei gave you the last of my Arbor gold, wine is wine, but this Dornish red is a bit sour." He put the glass down and Jon saw him hesitate as he twisted the stem of his glass. "I care for her a great deal, Jon. I promise you, if she wanted to...revive our marriage, I'd be good to her."

"I know you would."

***

He opened her door after she bid him come in. "I just wanted to make sure everything was all right, with your rooms." _And I wanted to see you, to spend a moment with you alone, to see if I can still make you smile, here in the North_.

Missandei was standing in the middle of the room. "Yes, everything is perfect, thank you. Your cousin is a marvel, I've never had clothes fit like this before."

He would have found Missandei beautiful no matter what she wore. The dress was a mix of Essos and Westereos, flowing, with open sleeves, yellow slashed with gray as the hem brushed the floor. If anyone could walk between the two worlds with ease it would be her, Jon thought.

She had her cloak around her shoulders, the silver fur framed her curls and dark lashes and Jon stared too long before realizing she was likely still cold, if she was wearing it here in her chambers.

"Is it warm enough for you?"

"I'm fine, I....please don't put yourself to any trouble." He was already building up the fire. "Would you show me? I'd like to know how to do it myself." She asked him questions as he stacked the logs, why one size went on top of another, how the air flowed, why this led to the warmest fire. _She likes learning for learning's sake_.

She sat on the bed and took off her cloak when they were done. She had been cold, he thought. "I'm not sure what I'll be able to do here, Jon, how I'll be able to help her. You all speak the Common Tongue."

Jon took one of the chairs in her room and sat facing her. "I don't think that's all you do for her. She's...very queenly."

"What do you mean, Jon?" She was leaning towards him, her hands clasped in her lap, and he thought he saw the beginning of a smile around her eyes.

"Well....when she called Lord Hornwood an unmannered boar over dinner."

Missandei looked down, the closest she ever came to showing unease. "She did say that rather loudly. I thought I saw him cross his arms. He was angry, wasn't he?"

"He usually doesn't call someone a stuck-up prig if he's not." _Gods, think before you talk next time, Jon_ , but she burst out laughing, it was like the sweetest bells ringing together. It washed over him in waves, that sound, he didn't ever want it to stop.

"So you're saying I might need to translate for her, not the language, exactly, but the meaning of her words? Smooth the edges?"

"Yes." She smiled, softly. "Thank you, Jon. I'd started to feel useless, here. It's...good to see you."

He shifted in the chair. "I'm as glad to see you as I thought I'd be." She looked down again, he had probably gone too far. He should leave and bid her goodnight. "I'll have someone bring more would for your fire tomorrow. Sleep well."

"Jon?" Her voice stopped him at the door. Her eyes were bright and she sat up straight. "I'm glad to see you too." They held each other's eyes, and he knew he was smiling with her. He kept the sound of her laughter with him as he walked back to his room in the moonlight. 


	3. Chapter 3

“I think I may have helped smooth the edges, Jon. With Lord Hordwood.” Missandei spoke as if she were sharing a secret.

They were in the library, where they’d agreed to meet once a week. Missandei taught Jon High Valyrian, and Jon promised to help her keep track of how Daenerys was faring among the Northerners. Jon thought it was more than a fair bargain. He couldn’t see her every day, as he had in Meereen, but he looked forward to this time. Anyone bringing a dispute before the King in the North prior to the hours he spent with his head bent next to Missandei’s got an unusually hasty ruling.

  
She liked to sit next to the fire, and Jon sat next to her, a book between them. The library was a shadow of what it once was since it had been put to the torch when Bran was attacked. But Jon and Sansa – Sansa mostly – were overseeing the rebuilding of the castle, and the library hadn’t been overlooked. Fewer volumes graced the shelves, but the chandelier full of candles was back, and Sansa had even found one or two tapestries to hang on the walls again. Jon had a suspicion the renovation might be proceeding quickly thanks to Lord Tyrion’s love of reading. Sansa went out of her way for him. Jon was glad to see it.

“How?” He’d seen her speaking with Lord Hornwood that morning. She’d deftly pulled him aside in the hall.

“Well, after the queen called him an...unmannered boar, I remembered what you'd said, about the words of houses, and their symbols. House Hornwood is a bull moose, and their words are-“

"Righteous in Wrath." Jon remembered that much from Maester Luwin.

“Yes. So I told him in Essos, a boar is another term for an animal very similar to a bull moose, praised for its...virility. And that while such a creature could be unmannered, it was certainly well-respected.”

He smirked. "So that's why he had his chest puffed out after he left you."

“I won't do that every time of course, I’d have to make up a whole menagerie. I'll make sure to talk to her about not being quite as ‘queenly’, but I do think I managed it.

“Well done, Missandei.” She inclined her head, pleased. “I think your work might be easy this week. I don’t have any other news about the queen.” It had been blessedly quiet on that front.

“In that case, we should see how much of the History of Rhaegar you remember.” She grinned at his groan. “It won’t be that bad, I promise.”

It would be the happiest part of his day.

 

***

 

They got a reprieve from the winter storms a few weeks later, and as Jon got ready for bed he was grateful it would be easier to sleep without the hail knocking on the roof.

Ghost had other ideas, though, and led him outside, leaving paw prints in the fresh snow.

Missandei was standing by the wall, looking at the sky, heedless of the snowflakes settling in her hair. She smiled as Ghost sat next to her, as docile as a pup.

“He likes you.”

She jumped a bit. “Jon, I didn’t see you there.”

“Is everything all right?” Ghost often knew when someone was in distress.

“Yes, I just...couldn’t sleep. It’s good to have a break from the storms, and the snow is lovely at night.” Her voice was wistful.

“You miss it. Meereen.”

“I do. But I like it here, more than I thought I would. You wouldn't know the difference it makes, to walk in a country with no _buzdari_ , no slaves.”

He didn't think she would ever have carried herself differently. But he expected that would stay with someone their entire lives, to be treated like property.

"I'm not sure I could ever understand it. I was a bastard, here at Winterfell, an outcast, but what you describe - I couldn't begin to know what it's like."

She seemed to relax. "Thank you. Lord Tyrion was a slave for seven days, and thought he knew what it meant. But you're right. Unless you've lived through it, there's no way to comprehend it." She rested her elbows on the wall.

“Your _ēbrion_ , your sky at night – the constellations are different here. You don't have Mhysa, the Mother, it’s the first one children learn. It shines so bright in Essos.”

He went to stand next to her. “The first one they taught me was the throne of Bran the Builder.” He pointed. “He was the first King in the North. He founded House Stark.

Her brow furrowed as she squinted. “I can’t make it out.” He took her hand, gently, so she was pointing with him, and they were looking the same way. He heard her small gasp when she saw the pattern above them.

“I see it, Jon, the throne.” Missandei turned, smiling, her face next to his. He found he didn’t want to let go of her hand. Her eyes were full of light.

Ghost whined. The wind picked up, and they both saw clouds rolling in from the east. “We’d better get inside.” He wanted to walk her back to her chambers, but she wouldn’t hear of it. “Have Ghost go with you, at least. He’s weathered more storms than either of us.” He put a hand on Ghost’s back. _Keep her safe._

He watched them leave, Ghost leaning into Missandei to guide her, as they receded into the distance. Ghost really would do a better job than he could. Then the hail struck, and he trudged back to his room. It would be hard to sleep again tonight, for more reasons than one.


	4. Chapter 4

**Missandei**

She knew, perhaps better than Jon did, that the moments they had together were stolen, that eventually people would talk. Lord Tyrion saw them together more than once in the library, and she didn’t hide her happiness as well as she should. The queen would learn about their visits.

It had been a shock, arriving in Westeros, coming to Winterfell. The thought of seeing Jon was a comfort to her as they traveled. If she returned to Essos now, she would miss it here, this wild and cold and beautiful climate, this castle with its gruff and honest people, but she’d miss him the most.

Jon had given her a constellation that night, a reference point, another way to call this place home. He was more observant than people gave him credit for, he'd sensed she was homesick. A King in the North, showing her the first King in the Westerosi sky. Others would have said “that's my ancestor,” would have come up with some way of boasting, some way of saying _I come from a long line of powerful men_. Jon had simply pointed so she saw the pattern in the stars, to make sure another piece of this country felt familiar, clicked into place for her. She'd come close to kissing him, she might have tried it, if the storm hadn't broken.

She'd caught a glimpse of him, four nights later, through the doorway to the great hall. She almost passed by, but he looked drained, and drawn. She stepped into the room.

The war markers were in front of him on the table in the great hall. He stared at the map as if it would give him some kind of answer if he looked long enough. A weight seemed to lift from his shoulders when he saw her. “Is everything all right, Missandei?”

“I was going to ask the same of you.”

He ran a hand over his face. “I'm brooding. Sansa would chide me for it. The battle, here at Winterfell...I lost it. She saved us. I couldn’t keep Ramsey from killing Rickon. I play it over in my mind, what I could have done differently, how many men had to die.”

Missandei sat across the table from him. Daenerys was like this sometimes, replaying decisions, worrying over what was already done. It could last for hours.

“Can you change it?”

“No.”

She picked up a marker. “From what I’ve been told, Rickon ran for you, and you ran to him."

“I didn't catch him.”

She began again. “The last thing he saw, Jon, was his family, his blood, risking everything to save him. He died, there's no changing that. But he knew, at the end, you loved him enough to ride out for him. That was a gift. I can't say what should have been done, I don't know enough about the strategy of a battlefield. But you risked, Jon, bravely, for something that mattered.”

He smiled. “The words of your house. I remember, that first night, in Meereen.” She turned the marker over in her hands. “A house.” She made a wry face. “I'll never have one.”

“You should. You'd...make people want to be better than what they are.” They were on the edge of something, again, and she had to change course, to lighten the tone.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I honestly couldn’t tell you.”

“If the King in the North died of starvation, that would be a bit...anti-climactic, wouldn't it?” He looked away, half-smiling, half-frowning. “Well, they wouldn't write songs about it.”

“I'll ask them to bring you something from the kitchen.” She stood.

“No, please don’t. I’ll go. The walk will do me good.”

“Good night, Jon.”

“Missandei?” She paused in the doorway. “Thank you.”

 

***

 

She'd stopped by Lady Sansa’s rooms earlier in the week, to tell her the queen wished to speak with her. Winterfell’s renovations were costly, and Daenerys wanted to pay her share.

“Please come in. Missandei. I’m just going over these figures for the library.” Sansa was scratching columns on a piece of parchment. Missandei stood in front of her desk.

“I know Lord Tyrion appreciates the time he spends there, Lady Sansa.”

“Yes, he’s always liked to read. I knew that before we were married, at King’s Landing.” Missandei knew the marriage had been forced, but Tyrion and Sansa seemed to take pleasure in each other’s company now. She’d seen Tyrion whisper remarks in Sansa’s ear about the guests at dinner, and watched Sansa smile as she bent to listen.

“He’s glad to see you well, Lady Sansa. He was concerned for you, on the journey.” They hadn’t had much word of what happened at Winterfell, but when Tyrion heard what Ramsey had done, he’d made the queen promise that they’d offer Sansa aid. Missandei had never seen him as serious as he was that night, when he pled his case to Daenerys. The queen was more than willing, but in the end the Starks had hadn’t needed help.

Sansa faltered as she drew the line for the last sum, and laid her quill aside, looking at the numbers. “He’s kind. I have a talent for being cruel to men who are good to me. I mistreated Jon when we were young, and I scorned Lord Tyrion when we married.” She looked at Missandei. “He gave me a choice, you know, when we first wed, about whether I would come to our marriage bed.”

“You deserved nothing less, Lady Sansa.”

“Perhaps. But that doesn’t mean he had to do it.”

“Does he hold it against you?” Missandei knew Tyrion wouldn't, not against a child who'd been practically a prisoner of war. She and Tyrion didn’t always see eye to eye, but she knew his character.

Sansa closed her eyes and smoothed her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a small smudge of ink behind. “No. He doesn’t.”

“Then I don't see why you should hold it against yourself, my lady.” Sansa smiled. “I can see why Jon likes you.”

“He is generous.”

“He's besotted. Do you know you have him to thank for your gown? He told me everything about you – your eyes, what you liked to wear, how yellow would be your color, how you could make the queen’s words sound like music.” Missandei blinked. “He said all of that? At once?"

“Yes, I was as surprised as you are. He was practically a font of knowledge. He could scarcely dredge up that the queen had blond hair and wore sandals. Jon cares for you. More, I think, than he does for the queen.”

 _Dangerous terrain_. “He's a king, Lady Sansa. I understand that. Alliances between armies and houses and the preservation of family legacies are more important than individuals.”

Sansa raised an eyebrow at her. “Are they?”

“Yes.”

“Then why was Lord Tyrion right to give me a choice? A consummated marriage would have united two houses, preserved his father’s legacy, maybe even helped to end a war.” Missandei found herself at a loss for words.

Sansa tapped the table with her quill. “What does the mother of dragons need, to rule?”

“To regain the Iron Throne, and to continue her house.”

“An army, then, and a husband.” She didn't mince words. “Jon has an army. But he'd pledge it without a marriage if he thought the cause was right. He’s a king, that helps, but wouldn't any husband of the queen’s be a king?”

She’d make an excellent cyvasse player, Missandei thought, able to see the whole board at once.

“Yes, he would.”

Sansa nodded. “I'll think on it. Please tell the queen I’ll come see her tomorrow.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Jon**

 

They walked the gravel path in the glass gardens. He’d taken her here once before, to explain how the hot springs worked, how Winterfell could grow fruits and vegetables even in the middle of winter, and also because he thought it might remind her of home. She seemed at ease here, and he needed all the help he could get, to work up the courage for what he planned to do.

“I've been practicing something, something I’d like to tell you. It's High Valyrian, so I have to ask your forgiveness in advance.”

“You've gotten so much better, Jon.”

“I'll butcher it halfway then.”

Her mouth twitched as she gave him a side-long glance. “Maybe a third.”

They stopped near a wall of blue flowers, climbing a trellis, at the end of the path.

“These are beautiful, Jon. I've never seen them in Essos.”

“They're called winter roses. They only grow here, in the North.” She closed her eyes to inhale the scent.

“They’ve a fragrance like our wine roses, but more subtle.”

If he didn’t do it now, he’d lose his nerve. He broke a stem and twined the bloom in her dark curls. He gave her a quick smile.

"For luck."

She was turned towards him, close to him, her face was flushed. He wouldn't have noticed it a month ago, it was so slight a change, but he did now.

It had taken him three weeks to work out the pronunciation and the meaning. He'd seen it in a book she had of translations of old Valyrian poetry. She'd trailed her fingers over the phrase. The leather-bound volume must have been precious to her, to bring it all the way across the Narrow Sea. She’d been delighted when he asked to borrow it. He’d read the underlined passage over and over in his chambers. She rarely made a mark in a manuscript.

He took a deep, shaking breath as he touched her cheek next to the rose.

" _Ñuho prūmiā iksā_."

He heard her slight inhale above the murmur of the small fountain in the middle of the gardens.

"You are in my heart." Her voice was a whisper.

"Yes. You are, Missandei." He rested his forehead on his. They were both still, breathing together.

"You are in mine too, Jon." It took a slight downward tilt to brush her lips. They were as soft as the petals in her hair. He pulled back, letting the kiss linger, a question.

She put her hand on his neck and drew his face down to hers.

He lost himself in the warmth of his skin, how good she felt in his arms, how she tasted like jasmine and faint spice against the scent of the rose in her hair, how her movements were delicate and sure. He was overwhelmed with relief that he hadn’t gone too far, or asked too much. _She wants this. She wants us_. His hand was at her waist as he kissed her back, deeply, he reached to cup her cheek -

“Ah. There you are, Jon.” Tyrion’s voice cut through the humid air. Missandei startled. “Missandei, might I speak with Jon alone? We’ve had quite the hunt, trying to find him.”

“...Of course, Lord Tyrion. Excuse me J-your grace.” Missandei gathered her skirts and left. Her walk was poised, her chin was high, and it was almost impossible to tell she was trembling.

“You seem to be having a pleasant evening, Jon. I suppose it is a king’s privilege, to dally with beautiful women.”

Jon was still reeling, from the sweet unfolding of the kiss, from the thrill that Missandei felt the same way he did, from the sharp stab of pain he’d felt at the fear in her eyes before she left. Tyrion thought she was a trifle to him, a moment’s distraction? He took a step towards the man without thinking.

Tyion cocked his head. “That’s the first time I’ve seen you look like a Targaryen, Jon. I think you’ve half a mind to strike me down where I stand. Perhaps I misjudged what I saw.”

“You did.” Jon’s voice was thick.

Tyrion sighed. “Regardless, we need you. A fight’s broken out at the encampment. Tormund can’t control it, and I thought we’d consult you before resorting to dragon-fire. Our queen does have a penchant for it. Come, I’ll show you.”

As they stepped into the cold, Jon saw the rose on a table in the corner. Given Tyrion’s reaction, she was probably wise to have left it. It didn’t stop the ache in his chest.

***

Daenerys summoned him to her rooms two days later. He hadn’t seen or spoken to Missandei, and he’d barely slept. The queen offered him wine. He refused.

She put the decanter down and drew herself up to her full height, looking at him from her couch.

“I understand you've grown close to Missandei.”

He didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure, yet, where Daenerys was headed, and he didn’t want to make things any worse.

“Lord Tyrion informed me where he found you. How he found you.” She picked up her glass.

“She won't be anyone's consort, do you understand?”

He couldn’t keep himself from rising out of his chair. "I would not want that. Nor is it up to me. She chooses who she chooses."

She gave him an appraising look. “There’s the king. I had wondered, Jon, if you had one in you. You might want to unclench your fists.” He did.

"We are the last two Targaryens, Jon. We must be united. But perhaps it doesn't need to be by marriage.” She tucked her legs under her. “Your masters have confirmed what I’ve known for a long time. I'm told I will have no children. So I will name you my successor. Your children will be my heirs. I will rule in King's Landing and you will rule in the North."

She put her glass down firmly. "Choose your queen carefully. She should be versed in politics." She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Not your strong suit. A woman with experience governing a city would help. Someone with a working knowledge of different languages and cultures. Perhaps prior experience with Targaryens. I'm told we can be difficult." He gave her a grudging half-smile. "We'll see if you're fortunate enough to win the love of such a woman." He bowed.

She put a hand on his arm before he left. Her voice was low. "I'd see Missandei happy. She's dear to me. If you hurt her, I swear to you, I will fly back here myself and have Drogon burn you where you stand."

He inclined his head. "I would expect nothing less."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me! It's taken me a while to put this chapter together. I hope you enjoy it! :)

Missandei was grateful for Winterfell’s solid wooden doors. She wiped her eyes. She’d managed not to start crying until she reached her chambers.

She’d never seen Jon so nervous. She’d had an inkling he’d try something when he picked the rose. She remembered how his hand shook as he twisted the flower in her hair. She’d gotten to know him over the past months, become familiar with how his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. She had an innate wariness that was hard to shake. But Jon never touched her for too long, or leaned closer than she’d like. She felt safe with him.

And the High Valyrian – he’d butchered it, more than halfway to be honest, but he’d stuttered through the words earnestly, the line she’d memorized as a little girl, "you are in my heart.”

Jon's kiss had been the faintest brush of his soft lips. The sweetest question. He would have stood there all night, waiting for her answer, and he would have accepted it either way.

“Missandei? May I come in?” Missandei wished she could refuse Tyrion. She knew she couldn’t put off the inevitable. But she refused to let him see her crying like a child on her bed. She settled at her table.

“Yes, come in, Lord Tyrion.”

Tyrion shut the door. “Well it's settled, and no need for dragon fire. An eventful night. Jon did well. Are you all right, Missandei?”

Her hair still carried the scent of roses and Jon's voice rang in her mind. She held her head high. “I’m fine, Lord Tyrion. Thank you for your concern.”  
  
Tyrion sat next to her. “I think you have two Targaryens fighting for you in different ways. A complicated predicament.”

“You've told her, the queen.”

“Yes, I did, about seeing you in the library together. I haven't had the opportunity to tell her about tonight. She's worried for you, Missandei.”

Missandei took a deep, steadying breath. “I know she needs the alliance-“

“For someone who’s such an excellent counselor, you do find it difficult to listen when you’ve made up your mind. She’s not worried about not being able to marry Jon.” He nudged her. “Do you see her pining for him? Hm? Glancing at the door with longing looks, waiting for him to walk in to hear him sweetly...what is it that he does? Mutter two word about the ravens from King’s Landing before skulking out again? Missandei, if you were to travel 500 miles away, marry a noble lord and have five fat and happy children, if you cleared the whole board for them, they'd never fall in love.” Tyrion sighed. “She's worried he's mistreating you, That he might presume he could do what he wanted. Kings do that, you know. Her own brother certainly did.”  
  
“Jon wouldn't mistreat anyone.” She managed to hold back the rest of her words – that if her queen spent more than five minutes with Jon, she’d know it was true.  
  
Tyrion spoke gently. “Our queen doesn’t know Jon. They don't have the same connection you do, Missandei. And she'd feel she wasn't doing right by you if she didn't protect you. He almost hit me, you know. I accused him of toying with you.”

“Jon?” Missandei tried to picture Jon angry.

“Yes. Jon. The other Targaryen fighting for you. I know we aren't close, Missandei, but I worry about you too, believe it or not. I saw kings do terrible things, take liberties with women, knowing there would be no repercussions. It’s difficult to know how a man will handle being called upon to be a king. Most eat it up, they’ve thought themselves kings their whole lives anyway, the power goes straight to their heads.”  
  
“He's not a threat to her.”

“No, I think she knows that now. She does need to know where to put him on the board, though. Targaryens rattling around the same country tend to come to blows.”

Missandei heard her queen’s distinctive knock. Missandei and Tyrion stood as Daenerys swept into the room.

“Sit, please, both of you.” The queen's cheeks were red from the cold.

“I've let you down, your Grace.” Missandei looked at the floor.

"Jon, is it?" She and Tyrion exchanged a look. The queen sat on Missandei’s right side and looked at her intently. "Missandei, you're crying. Did he hurt you?" Her anger was a palpable force.

Missandei found Daenerys's presence reassuring. The two women had fought together, mourned together, and and the queen had asked for Missandei's counsel. The queen had been sold by her brother, and yet had never called herself a slave, as Tyrion had. She understood Missandei’s fears, and knew what it would take for Missandei to place her trust in a man.

“No, your Grace.”

"Rather the opposite," Tyrion said dryly.

"Tell me the truth, Missandei." The queen's violet gaze brooked no argument.

“I care for him. And I think he cares for me too. I didn't mean to come between you, or to jeopardize what you need to accomplish in the North. I'm sorry, your Grace.”

The queen brushes her concerns aside. “How do you know he cares about you?”

“He told me. In High Valyrian.”

“In High Valyrian?” The queen was incredulous.

“I've been teaching him, your Grace.”

“Is he much of a student?”

“He's very diligent. He borrowed my volume of poetry.”

“You've had that book ever since I can remember, Missandei.” Daenerys's voice was kind. 

"Yes. I have a favorite passage, I have since I was a child, _Ñuho prūmiā iksā_ , he knew, he learned it, it's what he told me, in the gardens, Lord Tyrion, before you saw what you saw."

Tyrion and the queen were momentarily speechless. The queen broke the silence.

“Jon Snow recited poetry.”

“Yes.”

“In High Valyrian."

“Yes.”

“Love poetry no less,” Tyrion noted.

“Can he speak the language?” Daenerys squinted at her. Missandei laughed through tears. “Not really, your Grace, but he tries very hard.”

The queen had a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Well, I'm not sure I could ask for better proof."

“Also, he tried to hit me,” Tyrion said. “Though I'll grant you, the poetry is more convincing.”

It dawned on Missandei that the Queen and Tyrion were not angry with her. She'd been so concerned about putting her queen's goals at risk. She'd forgotten she had people in her life that wanted to protect her. 

"What do you see in him, Missandei? He’s pleasant to look on, I’ll grant you that."

Missandei raised her chin. “You told me once, your Grace, that your brother would have been a terrible king. “

“He would have.”

“Why?”

“He expected men to follow him because he had a birthright, but the only person he cared for was himself. He wielded power cruelly.”

“I think that’s why Jon is fit to be a king, your Grace. Jon doesn't want the mantle, or the crown. He won't abuse it. What better proof is there, than to see a man willing to walk away from power?”

The queen considered her words. "You may be right, Missandei. But he will have to take up the mantle when the time comes."

"He'll do his duty."

"Yes, Starks and their love of duty." Daenerys squeezed her hand. “I had a great love in my life, too, when I was young. My sun and stars. I have no illusions of marrying for love this time, Missandei. I’ve done it for political expediency before.” The queen embraced her, whispering in her ear. "One of us should marry for love, don’t you think?”

***

Missandei had planned to catch Lady Sansa alone, to – well, she wasn’t quite sure how much she felt comfortable revealing to her, but Sansa had been the first to support her budding relationship with Jon. And I certainly could use some advice of my own, she thought.

So it was a small disappointment when Missandei found Sansa and Tyrion seated with a cyvasse board between them. The sky was cloudy, but the two still had enough morning light to play by. They were so wrapped up in the game, Missandei had to clear her throat to get their attention.

“Ah, Missandei. You’ve come in time to witness my defeat. Lady Sansa is about to win her second game of cyvasse in a row.” Tyrion was leaning in his seat, his hand on his chin, frustration and enjoyment plain on his face in equal measure. “I taught her at King’s Landing. I’m starting to curse the day I gifted you with that board. Lady Sansa.”

“The game’s far from over, Lord Tyrion.”

“You are I both know that’s not true.”

“I’m still not convinced you’re not just letting me win." Sansa’s smile was mischievous.

Tyrion sounded exasperated. “Well they’re not exactly easy wins, are they?”

“No, but I’d expect you’d want to make it somewhat difficult or it wouldn’t be believable.”

Tyrion looked imploringly at Missandei. “Missandei, can you please help me convince Lady Sansa?” Missandei thought quickly. Sansa was no one’s fool. The story she told would have to be true. She smiled to herself as a memory came to mind, from an unfortunate night in Essos. She clasped her hands in front of her.

“Lady Sansa, do you know Lord Tyrion was once asked by the queen herself to throw a cyvasse game?”

Sansa looked surprised. “You mean to lose it on purpose?

“Yes, my lady.” She smiled as Tyrion squirmed. “It was the Masters of Yunkai, wasn’t it Lord Tyrion?”

Tyrion sighed. “They’d come to trade, and the queen knew Master Draznys was an excellent cyvasse player.”

Missandei walked over to stand behind Tyrion’s chair. “The queen thought it would put Drazyns in a more malleable mood if he could have a victory-”

“Before walking into a defeat of a negotiation, you see.”  

“It seems like the kind of plan you’d approve of, Lord Tyrion.” Sansa took a dainty sip of wine.

Missandei peered at Tyrion over the chair. “And did Draznys win?”

“No, he didn’t.”

Sansa's eyes widened. “He didn’t, Lord Tyrion?”

"No, because my damnable pride got in the way and I couldn’t let him lose. The queen was quite cross."

Missandei smiled. "So you see, my lady, I think he may be incapable of “playing to lose.” Sansa plucked a red grape. “Missandei, would you like any?” “No thank you, Lady Sansa.”

Tyrion admonished her. “They’re only going to get rarer, in winter, the next ones you’ll see are raisins.”

"Well." Sansa brushed her skirts. "That settles it then, Missandei. I am winning."

"You won’t win a third, I promise you."

"We’ll see about that."

Missandei closed the door on the two of them murmuring together. She could seek Lady Sansa’s counsel later. Let her and Tyrion enjoy a moment’s peace in the middle of winter. 


End file.
